The Bonds That Bind
by Autaria
Summary: Optimus Prime has been wrongly accused - exiled, even, along with Ironhide. When the Autobots are tasked to retrieve them, however, they find Optimus unstable, broken and wounded. Ironhide helps him to recover. Warning for Optimus Prime/Ironhide slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hey there! My brain keeps on churning out new stories without finishing the chapters for the others, but I promise you those stories will not go uncompleted :) Please help out by reading and reviewing, thank you!

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This femme was…she looked just like an angel.

The entire Autobot faction gathered fifteen metres away from the femme and the bodies of two very familiar mechs, lying on the crystal floor of the cavern.

Sunstreaker could tell by the very look of the femme that she was one of the Wreckers. In all honesty, Sunstreaker had never seen a femme Wrecker before – she had the slim build that any other femme would have, but she also had the tough outline of a Wrecker. Her armor was thrice that of any femme Sunstreaker had ever met – this was odd, because during the war femmes were not often used as warriors. Her left forearm was transformed into a wrecking ball similar to that of Bulkhead's, while her right arm rested on her thigh. Her helm was tilted upward, facing the crystal ceiling of the cavern, but her shining optics were condescendingly glaring at the Autobots. Her glistening paintjob of royal purple and jet black shone softly in the dim light emitted by Bumblebee.

Sunstreaker's confused mind gathered his thoughts – majority of the Autobot team had been sent to recover Optimus Prime and Ironhide. Their fading signal had led the Autobots to this crystal cavern, glistening with frozen water, and they had journeyed for a few minutes into the cave before they finally saw the dim silhouettes of their leader and his sparkmate, in critical condition. Just when Prowl was about to give out instructions on transporting the damaged mechs back to Base, however, a femme had appeared out of thin air – she had not spoken yet, but the femme was definitely Cybertronian.

"Who are you?" Bumblebee's voice broke the silence.

The Wrecker said nothing, merely tilting her head higher up, her optics still focused on the group.

"She looks familiar," Bulkhead muttered softly, while Prowl consulted his databanks.

"It can't be." Prowl's soft whisper of shock caught everybody's attention. "She matches the hologram on datapad 2492 of the Archives – Ancient Cybertronian History. One of Primus' offspring? This cannot be true!"

"What?"

"Primus had _kids_?"

"Who'd want to mate with an immortal hippie like him anyway?"

"Sideswipe!" Everybody's annoyed response was immediate, and it earned the red frontliner a cuff on the helm. Prowl cleared his vocalizer, causing a burst of static to implode, his optics refocusing on the Wrecker femme. A quick check on the relevant data file, and then, "Your name is Primex?"

The femme lowered her head slightly. A nod.

"What are you _doing _here in the mortal realm?"

The femme's optics narrowed, and appeared to lock onto the Autobot second-in-command for an instant before a servo rose, sweeping the air above the wasted bodies of their Prime and his mate. "I have come to claim them."

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Claim _them? _Claim the Prime and Ironhide? Why would the child of Primus want to claim the Autobot leader and his mate? The war was still ongoing between the Autobots and the treacherous Decepticons –Optimus could not afford to go anywhere. Without his leadership, the Autobots would lose their sense of direction. And yes, they had Prowl, but it would not be the same without their Prime. And they could not possibly take away Ironhide – he was their best at reassembling, upgrading and calibrating weapons systems. They could not possibly win the war with primitive weapons!

"Claim them?" One of Arcee's optic ridges went up.

"Yes." Primex's cold voice filled the entire cavern. "I have come to bring them home. They are too weak from injury to live on. All Primes are destined to join Primus when their time has come to become one with the Allspark."

Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably. "Then…why are you taking Ironhide?"

"They are sparkbound to each other for all eternity. Even in death they will be joined together…" the femme's vocalizer trailed off.

"You can't take them," Blurr started, but clapped his servos over his derma plates, surprised that he had found it within himself to oppose the intention of an immortal being connected to Primus.

"What?" The femme's voice raised a notch, and she took a step forward, her right forearm transforming into a large cannon – much bigger than any of Ironhide's! Blurr took a step back, whimpering softly, causing Primex to relent and lower her weapon. "I think we all know what happened that led to this," the femme growled, gesturing to the two damaged mechs lying on the icy floor. "Your blasted Council has exiled the Prime wrongfully. Ironhide chose to follow Optimus when he left Iacon after his exile. They left and ended up here, getting fatally injured along the way." A huff, and her weapon transformed back into her arm. "I'm merely taking them home, to rejoin the Allspark and claim their rightful place."

"The Council was wrong," Prowl ground out. "The moment we found evidence that Optimus was innocent, we were given permission to locate him –"

"Your blasted Council and your blasted protocol," Primex snarled. She turned to the two recharging mechs on the ground. "Letting them live means paying a price, you understand?" Her words echoed around the cavern. "I will only give you a single chance. The next time something like this happens – I am coming back, and I will not be so relenting."

A flick of her fingers, and the femme turned around, stalking back into the depths of the icy cavern, her form growing dimmer and dimmer as she moved away, and finally faded off into the black nothingness.

A long pause as the Autobots stood gaping in awe, rooted to the very ground, before Prowl snapped out of the reverie and began barking out instructions. Ratchet reached the two mechs lying on the ground first, brandishing his scanner and moving the gadget over Optimus' prone body, while Wheeljack was doing the same to Ironhide. The atmosphere was tense as the Autobots allowed the medics to do their work.

A full fifteen minutes passed before Ratchet stood up, dusting himself off. "Their condition is stable for the moment – if we can get them back to our laboratory at Base immediately. It's a good thing we brought the trailers; Bulkhead and Jazz will pull them back to Base. We need to go, now." His voice was filled with urgency, and Prowl continued issuing orders as Bulkhead and Jazz cycled into vehicle mode, Ratchet hooking the trailers to their rears. Wheeljack gently laid the limp body of Ironhide onto Jazz's trailer before tending to Optimus, carrying him to Bulkhead's trailer. Giving both Autobots a soft click, Jazz sped off out of the cavern, Bulkhead following him at close range.

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**Author's Note: **Well, how did that go? Please R&R! :) Thank you so much!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here's the next chapter, sorry for keeping everybody waiting! Holiday trainings are popping up here and there and between Taekwondo and studies, there's not really much time left for writing. This chapter is dedicated to my squadmates, who always cheer me up even when I'm down and go out of their way to make me happy :) Also, I simply needed to write some Optimus Prime and Ironhide fluff. So here it is! Please R&R :)

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"This may take a while," Ratchet shunted a blast of hot air through his vents. "There's lots of damage to their systems. I'll require the help of First Aid and Wheeljack, of course."

"Whatever resource we possess is at your disposal," Prowl nodded. "Whatever it takes to get Optimus and Ironhide repaired – we'll get it for you." Both medic and Second-In-Command were certainly aware that the Council had recently announced some budget cuts to the Autobots' medical department, but neither were willing to let the damned Council get in their way of repairing their leader and their Weapons Specialist.

"They're doing fine," Ratchet reported, his optics flickering back to the two patients on different berths, wheeled together so the edges of the berths were touching. Wires stemmed from servos, plates, chambers and tanks, hooking them up to different machines that displayed the mechs' vital statistics. First Aid and Wheeljack hovered anxiously at the various monitors, reviewing graphs and digitized reports.

The moment Bulkhead and Jazz had arrived back to base with the others, First Aid had been frantic, yelling orders to help get the injured mechs into the medical bay. After quickly surveying the damage, he had gotten to work immediately, without even waiting for Ratchet or Wheeljack. Sealing off the medical bay had been a very good idea, leaving the medic undisturbed for the next two hours as he worked to save their leader and their Weapons Specialist. The medbay doors had only been opened once to admit the other resident physicians. No visitors or well-wishers had been allowed.

Prowl followed Ratchet to Ironhide's berth. "What First Aid was doing just now was merely stabilizing their condition," Ratchet explained. "There are many minute repairs and many delicate fractured structures that we have yet to touch. 'Hide took the least damage out of the two." A quick sensor scan on the broader, black mech lying on the berth. "Broken rib struts, fractured legs, shattered pelvis, dented armor plates, reproduction chamber caved in. Major Energon and coolant loss. Core temperature lowered beyond the norm for system failure. Plus a lot of parts missing – one of his audio receptors was knocked off, and so was his radio. He'll be in stasis for a little while longer."

Prowl's mind idly wandered off as Ratchet was talking. _If 'Hide's injured that badly, how badly is Optimus hurt?_

"Optimus' condition, I'm more worried about," Ratchet admitted, resting both hands on his rims. "Severe Energon loss, more than enough to offline a lesser Cybertronian. Coolant tank completely breached, vital fluids drained. Several major Energon lines are cleanly severed. Both optics rendered offline. Dislocated arm and two broken legs, one nearly torn off. Cleft pelvis and mangled pedes. I foresee an extended stay in the medbay – a couple months at least." Nudging a wire into the corresponding port, there was a connective hiss before Ratchet released the cable, letting it hang loose as it pumped chemicals into Optimus' systems. Turning back to Prowl, the medic clenched his fists, resting his knuckles on the berth, vents releasing a grumbled sigh. "We have our servos full – it would be appreciated if you could keep the Twins out of trouble for the next two weeks."

"Which pair of twins? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Skids and Mudflap, Jetfire and Jetstorm…?"

"All of them," Ratchet shuttered his optics, pressing a servo to his jaw. It was well known that any pair of Twins in the Autobot base were accident-prone, and more than often Ratchet came out of recharge in the middle of the night cycle having to tend to one of the three pairs of twins in the Autobot base. "And try to minimize the number of casualties per week. We're going to be spending most of our time tending to Optimus and 'Hide here – the rest of the 'Bots are just going to have to do repairs themselves."

"Understood. If there are any extra materials you may need – "

"I'll comm you," Ratchet finished. "Returning to the matter at hand, I'm taking Prime off duty for the next three months, frag whatever the Council's got to say to that. You're in charge now. And the first thing it would be best to do as acting commander would be to brief our troops on the situation right now."

Prowl nodded. "I'll get to it. Thank you, Ratchet."

"Do not thank me yet," Ratchet huffed. "There's still much to do."

* * *

First Aid did not look up when his audio receptors registered the pneumatic hiss of the medbay doors opening. The mech's cranial support struts were inclined toward Ironhide's pelvis, blue optics steadily fixed upon the ruined armor. Transforming his hands into the various tools that would be needed for assembly, First Aid gently parted the plates, exposing the sensitive wiring. Greeted with sparking neural cables and torn Energon lines, the mech got to work, welding halved cables together. It was not a difficult job but it certainly was a tedious one – he found it enervating to have to poke his tools through many other cables to get to the ones right at the bottom of the pelvis.

Optic ridges creasing in concentration, First Aid worked deftly, soldering the split ends of each line together carefully. He was dimly aware of the broad bodies of Wheeljack and Ratchet sitting opposite him in his peripheral vision, working feverishly on their leader. Pressing his dermas together to form a tight line, the mech continued working, stopping at one point to withdraw a fuel line from his forearm. Crushing the tip of the flexible fuel cable between thumb and index finger, First Aid pressed the line to a corresponding port, and fresh Energon gushed into Ironhide's lines. A few minutes passed before he withdrew the line. The Energon he had transfused was enough to keep Ironhide alive – not enough to fill his tanks, but enough to keep him alive. There were still many lines that had yet to be fixed, and he did not want to give Ironhide a full transfusion if all the Energon was going to leak out sooner or later.

Withdrawing the fuel line, he was watching his forearm armor plates lock back together when a cube of Energon was pushed to his face, gently but not rudely.

Looking up, his weary optics found Jazz's, and he accepted the proffered cube, nodding his thanks to the third-in-command. Lifting the cube to his mouth, he tipped it upward, draining its contents. His glossa curled, registering the sweet taste of the Energon before wiping his mouth with his forearm, expertly throwing the empty cube over his shoulder where it hit a waste receptacle with a hard _clang. _"Thank you."

Jazz leaned against the berth, shrugging. "How are things coming along?"

"Quite well, actually." First Aid rubbed his optics. He could use a little distraction for a while. Ironhide's condition was stabilized, anyway. "I've nearly finished repairing his pelvis. There's a lot more to do, but everything physical is repairable, so there's no need to worry." He gestured to a trolley that had been parked beside the berth, filled with Ironhide's detached parts. Radio, armor plates, audio receptors, cannon parts, various cables and wiring. "Some parts came off him during his ordeal, and I've had to find replacements for them."

Jazz nodded, folding his arms, dermas curling inward.

"I'm still trying to piece together a probable explanation for what happened," First Aid's thumb rubbed against the edge of the berth. "From what I can gather, the moment Optimus' exile was announced, they left the borders of Vos. I do not know of their intended destination, but they were passing through the crystal-adorned wasteland beyond the borders. Temperature is at an all-time low there, you understand, with the frequent crystal storms. I presume they were looking for shelter, and ended up in that crystal cavern that you said you found them in. Along the way, though, I suspect that there was an avalanche, because evidence indicates that 'Hide's been struck here, here and here." His fingers moved, pointing to the pelvis, backstrut and flank. "I doubt that they encountered any Decepticons, because there are no wounds caused by weapons."

Jazz's optics narrowed. "Avalanche?"

"Yes. My theory is that because of that avalanche, 'Hide's Energon stores were severely depleted, nearly enough to offline him, so Prime shared his Energon with him by doing a simple transfusion. 'Hide took the brunt of the avalanche, so wounded though Optimus was, he still transfused most of his Energon to 'Hide to keep him alive."

Ratchet looked up, optics brightening as he turned to listen to First Aid. "Go on."

"With Energon running low between them, they may have tried to quicken their traveling pace. However, with the avalanche in effect, they had to seek shelter to get rest and repair themselves, and ended up in that cavern that you found them in, Jazz. After being exposed to the elements for too long, their core temperatures had lowered drastically, and therefore systems failure was imminent. Also, Optimus got hit by a boulder of some sort – I believe this event occurred much later than the avalanche, two days prior to you finding them. The impact knocked out most of his hydraulics and pierced his armor."

"That's…plausible," Wheeljack spoke, not diverting his optics from Optimus' forearm, where he was hard at work repairing the damaged metal.

"I guess we'll be able to find out when they emerge from stasis," Jazz shrugged. "I leave it to you, then."

* * *

It had taken two and a half weeks of non-stop repairing, recharge-less nights, and cubes and cubes of Energon, but the two mechs had been tidied up and repaired. Appendages had been replaced where necessary, and pain-reducing chemicals were being pumped into the mechs' circulatory system by machines. Ratchet had put the mechs in stasis lock for another day, but still insisted that the medics take up a timely shift in the medbay – just in case anything arose.

The current night shift was being taken over by Ratchet himself, and the medic lay sprawled over his desk, scattering the different tools and spare parts placed haphazardly on the table. Optics pressed to the table, he could hear his vents shunting air as an idle hand massaged the convoluted wiring at the base of his neck. It had been a long day.

A whimper, and Ratchet sat up, swiveling his head to see his two patients. Had he been imagining it?

Optimus was curled up in a sparkling position, tossing his head from side-to-side, mouth pressed into a thin line, optic ridges furrowed. His newly repaired arms began to flex, fingers twitching minutely as their leader seemed to convulse. Probably nothing more than a flux, Ratchet supposed.

A low rumble, and Ratchet's optics turned to Ironhide on the berth next to Optimus'. The mech was lying still, but his helm was turned toward Optimus'.

Ratchet's optic ridge arched. _Ironhide can sense Optimus' distress, even while in stasis lock? _

_Perhaps…_ He had an idea. Lifting Ironhide gently, he deposited the mech on a larger berth, big enough to contain two Cybertronian patients at the same time, and then did the same for their leader, until both of them were lying on the same berth.

Turning back to wheel the two now-empty berths to the corner of the room, Ratchet turned back to see Optimus's helm buried in Ironhide's chassis, mewling softly. The older mech had one arm curled around the Prime, olfactory sensor pressed to the back of their leader's helm. Even while in deep recharge, both sparkmates could sense each other's emotions.

Ratchet marveled at the scene for a while, before smiling gently.

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**A/N: **How did that go? :) Please review, it makes my day to open my mail and see that so many people have either liked, favourited or reviewed my stories :) Don't worry, it's far from over! I'll start working on the next chapter as soon as possible. Thank you all for reading once again! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Had nothing better to do for the day, and I refuse to continue doing homework, so here's the next chapter! It was a pleasure writing this one. Expect some fluff. My goodness, writing Optimus and Ironhide fluff is just so satisfying! :)

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_Forget about the sunrise  
Fight the sleep in your eyes  
I don't want to miss a second with you  
Let's stay this way forever  
It's only getting better  
If we want it to_

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_Optimus stared__ at the sunset, leaning into Ironhide. "It's beautiful."_

_Both mechs sat at the edge of the roof of their Base, foot pedes dangling carelessly in space. The ground was a clear five hundred feet below them, but neither of them were interested in looking downward. Ironhide had brought the Prime up here to "check something out", and it turned out that what Ironhide had wanted Optimus to "check out" was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen._

_Cybertron's sunset was amazing. Trillions of millennia of living and never before had he bothered to stop long enough to look at the sun setting over Cybertron's horizons? The Prime's optics brightened, watching the explosion of colours across the sky. Red, orange, pink, white. The orchestra of colours swirled together, in harmony, dancing across the empty sky as they blended into one another to form new colours. Deep and light shades conjoined, forming the most beautiful painting Optimus had ever laid optics on. The golden sun was a disc on the edge of the sky, giving life to the majestic happening that the Prime was witnessing. Clouds whirled and waltzed to the faint roaring sound of the wind, and Optimus could see the darkening sky cavorting around the bright colours, as if pushing them back to the sun. _

_"This is beautiful," Optimus reiterated. _

_"Glad you like it," Ironhide smirked. "Between your datapads and the weekly harangue with the Council, it doesn't give you a lot of joors to let down your antennae with me, you know."_

_Optimus chuckled, lifting his head up slightly to kiss the sensitive neural cables on Ironhide's neck before resting his helm back down on Ironhide's steady shoulder. "We should do this more often."_

_"Agreed." Ironhide nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a while more, watching the spectacular view for a moment more before he spoke again. "Actually, I didn't ask you to come up here just because I wanted you to sit with me for a while."_

_Optimus' optical ridges rose. "Then what did you ask me out for?"_

_"Optimus," Ironhide started, his hands reaching out and grasping the Prime's. "I know you know that I love you. And I know that you love me, too. I know we don't really spend a lot of time together nowadays, because of the damned Council and the Decepticons, but I treasure the little moments we have together. I still think of the time when we first met, I remember what we said, I remember each and every happy moment we share. Without you, there is no me. You – _complete _me. Each time you leave on some fragging deployment the Council assigns you to, I die a little inside, because I always miss you and I always await your return eagerly. We've been together for fifteen vorns, but I want to spend the rest of my lifespan with you." He paused. "Optimus, I'll be blunt. I want to know if you're willing to bond with me."_

_Optimus didn't look surprised. In fact, when he lifted his head up, Ironhide could see a broad smile on his facial plates. Laughing, and nuzzling his love, the Prime nodded. "Of course I want to bond with you. And, just so you know, I want to spend the rest of my lifespan with you, too."_

_Ironhide returned the smile, and pulled Prime closer to him. They sat there in content silence, listening to each other's vents, and watching the rest of the sunset. _

_They remained like that even after nightfall, five hours later._

* * *

"I'm going to try and bring them out of stasis lock," Ratchet explained to Prowl. "It should work fine – I don't know how they will react, though. Just prepare yourself for the worst."

Prowl nodded, moving to stand at the side of the mechs' shared berth, watching them with a gentle gaze. Optimus was still curled into 'Hide's embrace, hands pressed to the plating directly above his spark chamber. Their leader looked – content. More so than he'd ever seemed since the start of the war.

"First Aid, when I give you the go-ahead, administer the drug to them, one mech at a time. We'll start with Ironhide first, since he took the least damage." Ratchet sat himself behind a monitor. "Wheeljack, monitor vitals and spark pulses, and keep me updated. I will handle systems supervision." A deep shunt from his vents, and the Chief Medical Officer turned to his subordinate. "Okay, as and when you're ready, First Aid."

The mech nodded, and his fingers flew across the keyboard, activating panels and chemical tanks. Optic ridges arched, glossa poked upward in concentration, First Aid's nimble fingers worked, commanding a small, transparent tubule to unlatch itself from the terminal, snake over to Ironhide, and attach itself to a port on the Weapons Specialist's temple. The plates parted with a hiss, and the tube connected with Ironhide's CPU. A click, and First Aid inspected the graphs that were popping up haphazardly on the screen. Apparently satisfied, the mech pressed a single key, turning in his chair to take a look at the situation.

Blue liquid bubbled from within the machine, unseen mechanical parts generating enough hydrostatic pressure to pump the drug through the tube. The substance travelled up the pipe, snaking and curving as it saw appropriate, and finally entered 'Hide's Central Processing Unit.

First Aid waited for a few minutes. Prowl started clicked nervously, and Ratchet's scowl grew more pronounced as the CMO waited for any change in vital statistics. Wheeljack's optics were locked onto his own screen, flickering minutely as he read through the reports.

The tubule sealed shut with a click, detaching itself from Ironhide's plates. The plates locked together, crushing any available space between them, preventing any sensitive wiring from vulnerability. The cable slithered back to First Aid's open servo. The tension in the room was almost enough to crush Prowl, as all four mechs' optics fixed upon their resident Weapons Specialist.

The loud crack of thunder brought them of out their reverie. Prowl glared at the closed window pane, optics narrowing to view the situation outside clearly. Nothing more than a storm, he concluded. This part of Iacon was known for its infamous thunderstorms – quite often, the rain could reach up to a mech's rims. That was how bad the storms were, and they lasted for _orns _on end. Nobody could tell when the unpredictable showers were going to stop, not even with Cybertronian technology. Streaks of lightning branched out from behind a cloud, zapping the superheated air in all directions. Another blast of thunder followed not long after. Prowl counted the number of astroseconds that separated the lightning show and the crackles of thunder.

_The storm is directly upon us, _Prowl surmised.

A groaned burst of static, and Prowl's optics snapped from the window to Ironhide. The mech's optics were flickering weakly, servos trembling slightly as they curled around Optimus' slim midsection.

Ironhide focused his lenses, struggling to see one Prowl instead of three towering over his berth. Something warm and familiarly pleasant was flushed close to his chassis, and he had his arms curled around it. Everything hurt right now – his helm, his optics, his CPU, even the most minute parts obscured from sight by his plates – everything felt…as if small bursts of electricity was running through them, jolting him awake, preventing him from slipping into the recharge that he so needed.

Weakly lowering his helm, he was relieved to find an unconscious Optimus pressed close to his chest plates, the tip of his olfactory sensor barely touching the spot where Ironhide's spark lay. His arms tightened. They had been exiled, hadn't they? Then why were they back at Base, on a berth? Had they been injured?

"'Hide?"

Ironhide looked up at Prowl, clicking softly before returning the acknowledgement. "Sir." He was shocked to find his vocalizer so weak and thin from orns of disuse. His CPU stalled for a moment, before recollecting every memory of the past few weeks from his storage databanks, replaying the scenes to Ironhide. Being exiled. Swearing to his sparkmate that he would follow Optimus wherever he went. Offlining multiple times. Checking his systems, and cross-referencing with his internal chronometer, Ironhide realized with a start that it had been nearly two months since their exile. Glancing upwards again, he noticed that, for a moment, Prowl looked utterly relieved, before he rearranged his faceplates back into the customary stoic expression that Ironhide always associated with him.

"Sir, we're supposed to be banished," Ironhide began, his voice cracking with each word. Clearing his vocalizer with a burst of static, the Weapons Specialist looked at his superior in the optics. "We're not supposed to be here."

"Not any longer," Prowl shook his head. "It turns out the Council was wrong – Optimus did _not _send vital information to the Decepticons. Cliffjumper managed to uncover the truth when he caught Airachnid sneaking into the consoles to hack into the recordings and exchanging them with false tapes. She was unable to hack into Teletraan One, because of Red Alert's firewalls, of course, but she was able to make it look like information had been downloaded off the databanks. Long story short, she got thrown into a prison cell and is currently undergoing interrogations as we speak."

"So, we're…"

"You're allowed to come back home. Blast it, we're so – _fragging – _glad to have the two of you back." Abandoning his usual façade of sternness, Prowl allowed his facial plates to slide into a look of frustration and relief. "Ratchet, First Aid and Wheeljack worked on you all week. Two weeks, as a matter of fact."

The thunder roared furiously, and there was a sudden whimper as Ironhide felt Optimus bury his helm even further into his chassis. He had not been aware that Optimus was awake. First Aid looked apologetically at them, transparent tubule in servo – the two mechs had probably been too occupied talking to one another that they had not even noticed that First Aid had awakened their Prime.

"Er, Sir?" Prowl took a step back, addressing Optimus. He was unsure what to make of the Prime's current behaviour – in all the vorns that he had known Optimus, he never once saw their leader afraid of something. Thunder was a pretty common thing in this part of Iacon…and Optimus had never shown his fear of loud noises openly.

Optimus didn't look up, shuttering his optics tightly as he pressed his olfactory sensor against Ironhide's chassis, seeking comfort from his mate's spark.

Ironhide looked down, moving two splayed fingers to Optimus' chin. Tipping his head up slightly, the Weapons Specialist could see that his mate was shaking badly, wanting nothing more but to be with somebody familiar. Dermas slightly parted, the Prime's optics peeked open for a while, relaxed upon seeing that it was Ironhide, and shuttered themselves again. Curling himself as much as he could, trying to make himself as compact as was possible till his current frame was only a fraction of his usual size, Optimus moved closer into his mate's weary embrace, too weak to whine.

Ironhide's optic ridges furrowed, pressing a chaste kiss to the Prime's helm.

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**A/N: **Hmm, how did that go? Please R&R :) I love getting reviews, even if it's the same reader! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Here you go, the next chapter! :) It's really entertaining to weave the story, it's all coming together really well :) Please read and review, and if you like it, press the favourite or follow button? Thank you so much! :)

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"I don't get it," Prowl frowned.

"None of us do," Ratchet sighed, cube of Energon in hand. "Right now, the only mech Optimus trusts is Ironhide."

"He gets…frightened when 'Hide isn't around him," Prowl agreed, pinching his olfactory sensor ridge.

"Tell me about it," the CMO grunted, downing another quarter of the cube of Energon. "The other orn, I separated 'Hide from Prime. They were still in the same room, you understand, just on different berths. I had 'Hide on my inspection berth for a simple check-up and tuning of his systems, while Optimus was still in recharge. Halfway through the tune-up, Optimus woke up, and he looked so…scared." Ratchet shrugged. "That's the only word I can find to describe him. He started wailing softly, and I had to finish the rest of 'Hide's tune-up on their shared berth. With Optimus in his lap. Do you know how _slagging _hard it is to operate on someone who's cuddling another grown mech?"

Prowl sighed. "I've never seen him so vulnerable before."

"We need to help him recover," Ratchet shuttered his optics, throwing the cube away as they passed a waste receptacle. "It will take time, though. I think it would be best as acting commander to inform the Autobots about our recent…situation. I have conferred with the Council, and they agree with me that it would be best if you continued your post as acting commander, and that Optimus needs time to recuperate from his ordeal. In the meantime, however, we cannot allow word of our leader's current state to get to the Decepticons. Megatron is likely to take advantage."

Prowl's vents released a frustrated blast of pent-up air. "Agreed. Honestly, Ratchet, being acting commander does not sit well with me. I'm too used to looking for Prime's opinion on the various matters." A rumbled sigh, and then the second-in-command's helm turned towards the medic. "I will need you at the briefing, though. You may be able to answer some questions that I cannot."

"I'll be there, all right," Ratchet assured his friend. "Doubtless they'll be throwing questions left and right, and Primus knows we can only answer some of them."

"The real question is – how do we help Optimus?"

"This kind of thing…" Ratchet frowned, recalling a data file from his storage drives. His optics flickered for a moment, reading the file, before brightening. "What we need right now is a mech who fits the bill as a councilor for both Prime and 'Hide, but we don't have that. Prime's recovering quite well physically, but I think what happened in the time since his exile has got to be what's affecting him mentally. 'Hide doesn't seem to be affected, though, even though he went through the same thing. We'll need Ironhide to help Optimus in his road to recovery, since Prime only trusts his sparkmate. As I've said before, this kind of thing will take time. He needs to either forget it ever happened, or accept the memory, overcome his fear, and move on with life."

"He doesn't even trust me," Prowl murmured dejectedly.

"He doesn't trust any of us, but he trusts 'Hide. That's good, because at least one mech is able to communicate with him and find out what is it that's bothering him. When 'Hide's recovered sufficiently, we'll ask him if he has any idea what's happened to Prime – if he doesn't, we'll arrange for him to have a talk with Optimus. Find out what's wrong."

The slightest pause.

"All right." The words were barely audible, before Prowl straightened himself up. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to check on my sparkmate. Primus knows what Jazz is up to this morning."

* * *

"Prime? I'm going to help you sit up so you can refuel."

There was no indication that the mech heard him, until the Prime shifted himself closer into Ironhide's embrace, seeking warmth within the slumbering mech's arms. Obviously he wanted to ignore Wheeljack. The inventor frowned. He had been given a simple task by Ratchet – refuel both patients, and then let them recharge without any interference. He wasn't going to let Prime starve just because he himself did not want to drink.

"Sir?" A careful hand was placed on the Prime's shoulder. Encouraged when the Prime did not flinch or retreat further into Ironhide's chassis, Wheeljack decided to use the art of persuasion. "Sir, you need to refuel. You lost a lot of Energon. I'm going to help you sit up, so that you can drink, okay?"

By all rights, Prime would have been starving for Energon right now. During the period of his exile, neither him nor Ironhide had thought of bringing vast Energon supplies to last them during their mission. They had two or three cubes with them, but that ran out quickly within four days, even with strict rationing. Wheeljack had overheard First Aid saying that he suspected that they had starved for days on end until the Autobots had reached them. They had been connected to an Energon drip for the period of time that they were undergoing repairs, but the drip had been removed when they were brought out of stasis lock. They had to be _famished. _

Optimus hesitated, and then turned towards Wheeljack slowly. The Wrecker gently rearranged Ironhide's arms so that they no longer wrapped around the Prime, and then helped Optimus sit up carefully, freezing when his ear finials detected a hitch in Optimus' venting. The Prime had jarred his newly repaired leg.

Ironhide's optics flickered online almost immediately, surprised to find the lack of a pleasant heat source against his chassis. Looking at Wheeljack with dim optics, his gaze snapped to his mate's, and the Weapons Specialist sat himself up quickly. His left arm curled around Optimus' midsection and his right hand went to his sparkmate's backstrut, taking over from Wheeljack. A dismissive click, and the inventor's hands slipped away, letting Ironhide handle the Prime. The Weapons Specialist helped Optimus up slowly, clicking encouragingly and lovingly. Wheeljack watched in awe, as Prime slowly sat himself up, facial plates contorting into a wince each time he jarred a part, but at Ironhide's soft clicking, his features relaxed.

Wheeljack had to agree that it was amazing. In all his vorns serving under the Prime, never before had he seen him so vulnerable – but he had also never really witnessed 'Hide's loving side. What most mechs saw was the trigger-happy Weapons Specialist of the Autobots, whose hobby was crushing 'Cons under his foot pedes, and occasionally with the help of his plasma cannons, but what they did not know was that Ironhide could be gentle if he wanted to. Which was currently the case with Optimus – 'Hide was being extremely cautious, treating his sparkmate as if the Prime himself was made of glass.

Reaching to the trolley beside him, Wheeljack pulled out two cubes of Energon, handing one to Ironhide, and balanced the other on Prime's lap. Both sparkmates sat so that their backstruts were leaning against the headboard of their shared berth, their legs spread out in front of them. Optimus' head rested on 'Hide's shoulder gently, while Ironhide unsealed his cube and took a long, dragging sip.

The crackle of thunder registered in Wheeljack's audio finials again, and the inventor found himself crossing over to one of the windows in the room, foot pedes landing gently on the padded floor. The sky appeared almost angry – it bestowed Wheeljack with a black face, furious thunderclouds starting to gather upon the city of Iacon. The view was spectacular from the medical room – the late afternoon sunlight had completely faded away, the sun enshrouded from view by the grey clouds. Wheeljack could see nearly every building in the immediate vicinity, stretching as far as fifty klicks away. The Autobot Base, being one of the highest buildings on Cybertron, boasted marvelous views if anybody had bothered long enough to stop by a window and gaze out. The sky lit up, illuminated by a jagged streak of lightning, and then dimmed.

The storm troubled Wheeljack. Prime had shown signs of vulnerability during the last storm, especially when there was thunder. Iacon's infamous storms were known for their obnoxiously loud thunder blasts, second only to the sheer amount of rainfall.

As if on cue, thunder rumbled gently, reminding Wheeljack of its presence. Accompanying the noise was a sound of something brittle falling to the floor and shattering into a million pieces. Wheeljack turned around immediately, spark pulsing rapidly, afraid that the Prime had probably broken the Energon cube and hurt himself in the process.

Optimus' fist was clenched, trickles of Energon leaking from his palm onto his lap, pooling onto the edge of the berth, and sliding onto the floor. More than likely he had crushed the cube in his fright. His intakes were hitched and rapid, optics fixed on a far point at the end of the room, unseeing. The Prime's plating heaved upward and outward as he fought to calm his vents. His baby blue optics, bright with fear, reminded Wheeljack of how unstable their leader was, and of his recent fear of loud noises.

The inventor's facial plates softened. Taking up a rag, he started to clean the floor, letting the fabric soak up the Energon.

"Shh," he heard, and, upon looking up, saw that Ironhide had Prime in another embrace, fingers running patterns on their leader's armor, whispering sweet nothings into his ear finials. The Prime was shaking, trembling in the broader mech's arms, but he allowed himself to be cradled as he whined softly, burying his head in 'Hide's chassis when the thunder began to bellow.

"Here," Ironhide offered, and pushed his sparkmate against the headboard gently, lifting up his own cube of Energon to Optimus' dermas, pressing a gentle servo to his mate's jaw so that the Energon would not spill. The look the Prime gave to Ironhide was a one that was completely trusting and loving, and he accepted the fuel, drinking hungrily. Each time the Energon level in the cube went down, Ironhide tilted the cube upward, letting more Energon slide down his mate's raw throat.

"Thank you," Optimus murmured when the cube was withdrawn, his voice shaky, and Wheeljack realized it was the first time he had heard their leader speak since his return. His rich baritone voice was still there, but slightly more swayed.

A tender kiss was pressed to the Prime's cheek plating, and Optimus found himself relaxing, optics half-shuttered.

Wheeljack turned back to his work, wiping down the side of the berth and the floor, before tossing the rag into the trolley. "I'll be at my desk," he informed Ironhide quietly, and left, not wanting to disturb the two sparkmates.

The big question that he was currently contemplating was why Optimus seemed so broken when Ironhide seemed fine.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, how did that go? Please R&R :) Fluff ahoy! :) The next chapter may not come out so soon, though, I have to start on my holiday homework :P


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Finally updated! Whoop whoop! Enjoy! :) Not much in this chapter though, look out for the next one!

* * *

Airachnid rolled her optics. She simply could not decide what was worse: listening to the mech in front of her drone on about her list of offenses – which was pretty long – or having to sit still for hours on end without moving about. Her legs had been clipped together with electromagnetic cuffs, which meant she could not transform into her attack mode nor utilize all of her eight legs. Her cheek plate resting on a balled fist, her CPU idly wandered off. What would Lord Megatron say when he found out that she had been captured by the Autobots?

This had been nothing more than a failed mission. Megatron's orders had been simple: infiltrate the building, head to the consoles room, erase and replace any Decepticon trace in the system. The femme had sneaked into the building on a previous occasion, changing surveillance tapes to false ones that would frame the Prime. She was to blame for Optimus' exile – the false tapes created by Soundwave had given the Council false proof that the Prime had been secretly supplying vital information to the Decepticons, giving them an unfair edge in the war. Prime would never do that kind of thing, she knew, but the Council was gullible, and it spurred them on to exile the Prime and his mate. The second time, nearly two months after her first penetration, she had been sent to infiltrate the building was to double-check if there were any Decepticon traces left in the system. Evidently there weren't, and she had also learnt not to judge the guard by his appearance. He had appeared as if he was deep in recharge, lying on a desk by the front entrance of the consoles room, allowing her to sneak past him, but had bided his time until the very last possible moment to capture her.

_There has to be a way out of this, _Airachnid thought, fumbling with the electromagnetic cuffs on her servos under the desk, out of the guard's line of vision. That was mistake number two – the Autobot guard had not been alert in the least. A Decepticon would never have let a prisoner's appendages get out of their line of sight. Mistake number one had been the lack of multiple guards in her interrogation room; a single Autobot had escorted her in, and was currently in the midst of trying to get Decepticon secrets from her. She needed to get the electromagnetic cuffs out, for there was some sort of padding on the cuffs that covered her entire palm, thus disabling the use of her ability to shoot out synthetic webbing.

_Time to end this little game, _the femme decided. Lord Megatron would not send Starscream nor any other Decepticon to rescue her, she knew. This, she would have to do herself. The guard – what was his name now? Ah, Cliffjumper. – was not alert in the slightest. She could make that work to her advantage. All she needed to do would be to engineer a quick escape.

The doorway of opportunity came when Cliffjumper ventured too close to her, pacing a full round around the interrogation table of which the chair Airachnid had been strapped to. The keys to the electromagnetic cuffs on her wrists were jingling merrily, hooked just around Cliffjumper's metal band, tied securely around his midsection. This was just like in those hologram films. The prison guard had his keys hooked around his weapons belt, got too close to the prisoner, keys were stolen, prisoner managed to escape. Airachnid drew some inspiration from this – Megatron would definitely be pleased.

Casually letting her servos slide to her side, Airachnid faked a yawn, waiting for Cliffjumper to pass her chair. The unwitting guard did just that, his back to her as she hooked a careful claw around the ring of the keys, and slipped them out of the metal belt, without the Autobot noticing. Deftly unlocking her cuffs, but not taking them off, she bided her time until Cliffjumper had finished one full round around the table, whatever he was saying apparently finished. "So, Decepticon Airachnid, would you be willing to cooperate and submit to the interrogation now? What do you say?"

Airachnid's facial features slid into a thoughtful look, before giving a final smirk at the Autobot before her. "Nah."

Raising her palms, she fired a single shot of the synthetic webbing straight in the guard's face. Cliffjumper was blinded; and then a second shot towards his limbs, webbing the helpless Autobot to the wall. Airachnid would have dearly loved to extinguish his spark – but no, there was no time. Her first priority was to escape. Although the prospect of seeing Megatron again did not seem to please her. While being captured, Cliffjumper had noticed that she was actually swapping in false tapes to replace the old ones – the tapes that would push the blame of the Decepticons heralding Autobot information to Optimus Prime. That stupid guard had informed the Council, and Airachnid supposed they had probably withdrawn their claim on banishing Optimus Prime and his mate by now.

Megatron was going to fry her. Forget that, he was going to blast her with his fusion cannon, jettison her remaining parts into space, letting her float around for a few orns before she deactivated from the lack of Energon consumption. Airachnid winced. Perhaps she could create another façade – push the blame to Starscream instead, or something like that. Whatever. She could think about it later. For the moment – escape.

Scuttling out of the doorway, she gave a furious Cliffjumper a mock salute before rushing down the hallway, her CPU wandering to how she could placate Megatron's anger once he found out that the Council had realized that Optimus was innocent, that the Prime had been allowed to come back to the Autobot base, and the knowledge that their entire plan had just melted into scrap metal. The alarms weren't blaring yet – they had not realized that she was gone. She needed to find something, some artifact of importance that could possibly tide Megatron's unsatiable anger…

Perhaps there was something in the consoles room, her exact place of capture, that would hold significance to Megatron. The Autobots had recovered Optimus, if she had heard right, from Cliffjumper. The Prime was probably reduced to a pile of scrap messily welded together. If she had proof of this, by snagging some recording or another, she could show Megatron that the Prime was in a vulnerable state and was currently convalescent, then Megatron would see this as a golden opportunity to attack the Prime. He would most likely spare her life.

The consoles room was manned, but a quick disabling of the security cameras and the guards let Airachnid into the system without much of a resistance. As the femme hacked deep into the Autobot surveillance tapes, she accessed the file on Autobot Alpha outpost, the one where Optimus Prime was supposedly residing in. Her optics scanned the file, and her frown turned into a smirk.

"Interesting," she murmured.

* * *

"I've been thinking," Jazz murmured, olfactory sensor buried in Prowl's chassis. "About what you and Ratchet said at the briefing the other day. You know, the one where 'Ratch said that Prime's mentally unstable and his CPU's glitching or something like that, but surprisingly Ironhide's quite functional."

Prowl did not say anything, willing his mate to continue. Both mechs were resting on the large sofa in their shared quarters, Prowl nearly half-recharging due to another long day of handling paperwork, checking in on the two wounded 'Bots at three-hour intervals and listening to the crap the rest of the Autobots gave him. Bluestreak in particular. You simply could not get that mech to _shut up._

An idle hand stroked Jazz's hips, earning the Second-In-Command a purr before Jazz continued. "Do you remember when we found them in the cave a couple of weeks ago? You know, when we met Primus' kid. What was her name again? Oh, yeah, Primex or something like that. Yeah, do you remember what she said?"

"What she said?" Prowl repeated the sentence slowly, before his CPU recalled the memory from his storage banks. "Yes, I think I do remember. She told us how Optimus and Ironhide were too weak to survive, how she was going to claim them –"

"No, no, no," Jazz pushed himself away, sitting upright, his optics bright and serious. "Prowler, think back, when she said that she would allow them to stay in our mortal realm. What were her exact words?"

Prowl frowned. "She said something along the lines of the consequences of letting Optimus and Ironhide live. I believe her exact words were, 'Letting them live means paying a price, you understand? I will only give you a single chance.' Something like that. Why?" He cast a suspicious look at his bonded. Jazz, though most definitely not stupid, was not a mech to delve into the past so deeply. He did not usually remember exactly what people had said, unless it was important.

"She said that letting them live meant paying a price. She did not mention _what kind _of price." Jazz let the words sink into his beloved's processor. "Paying a price – it means that we had to sacrifice something in order for her to return Optimus and Ironhide back to us. It slipped out CPUs completely, because we were just so overjoyed that she let them live, so we just ignored that part. I think that – you know, maybe – the price, the consequence she mentioned, was Prime's mental stability. I mean, he's not gone insane or anything, but you've seen how frightened he gets at the smallest of noises; how he doesn't trust anybody but 'Hide. He's not himself, although 'Hide doesn't seem to be affected, and they've went through the same thing – it's the only possible reason I can think of."

Prowl frowned. It _did _make sense. If they had seen Primus' child in the past couple of weeks, then it was possible that this very condition of Optimus' was due to the fact that she had spared his life. "Probable," he murmured, as Jazz leaned in closer. "I'm going to have to talk to Ratchet about this."

"Not now, surely?" Jazz whined. "You just got off work, and we never have any proper cuddling time nowadays."

"I'll comm him," Prowl assured, and opened up an internal communication link. "Don't worry," he whispered to Jazz, while waiting for Ratchet to acknowledge the link and accept it. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**A/N: **Please R&R :)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hello everybody! Sorry to keep you waiting for so long :) Here's the next chapter! Hope all of you enjoy it! :) Please remember to leave a review, they make me so happy!

* * *

Ratchet pinched the space between his optics, sighing. Optimus' emotionally unstable state was starting to get on his nerves. Yes, he knew the mech couldn't help it, but even so – this had to stop sooner or later. The CMO vented deeply, pushing his temper down. No, he had to keep his cool. There was no way he was going to allow himself to yell at Optimus, even though the broken mech was being so absolutely childish.

"Do continue," he murmured, optics still shuttered, his servo maintaining a strong vice grip on the Cybertronian-sized clipboard, causing a dent in the brittle metal backing.

Diagonally in front of him, sitting on the king-sized berth, was a mostly-healed Ironhide, supporting a still-convalescent Optimus. The moment news of Optimus' unstable state had gotten out to the rest of the Autobots, there had been many well-wishers and busybodies barging into the medbay just to take a look at their fallen leader, and it had frightened Optimus even more, making him withdraw back into himself. Ratchet, with the help of Wheeljack, First Aid, Prowl and Jazz, had managed to chase everybody out, thankfully, and Ironhide had helped calm the whimpering Prime down.

"Well – there really isn't anything left," Ironhide finished, trying to reconstruct their month spent in exile. "We were exiled for about a full month and a week before you came to find us. Encountered hardships, everythin' I've told you about so far. The lack of consumable Energon, the rough terrain – I think I've covered it all, Ratch'."

"Yes," Ratchet nodded. "So – let's go through this again. The both of you left Iacon, made your way past the borders of Vos, and began your journey into the tundra." A nod from Ironhide, before Ratchet continued. "You were on the halfway mark to scaling the main mountains when you ran out of drinkable Energon – four or five days into your exile. There was some sort of rockslide, which caused you to be gravely injured, knocking you out for about two orns straight before you came online. By then the both of you had lost a dangerous amount of Energon, and decided to find shelter due to the extremely low temperatures and the frequent hailstorms." Ratchet set down his clipboard, rubbing his tired optics with a single servo. That was everything – but nothing seemed quite so traumatic that had Prime in such a fragile state. Perhaps – perhaps Ironhide was not telling him everything?

"About that rockslide you mentioned," Ratchet prompted, when the silence between them had grown too long, a clear sign that Ironhide was unwilling to say anything more. "First Aid tried to reconstruct a probable explanation of what you had endured during your exile when you were still in stasis lock. He theorized that there had been an avalanche – basically the same thing, more or less. I'd like to see if you can elaborate on what happened during that event." The medic kept silent, willing Ironhide to start talking.

"Yeah – I vaguely remember somethin' like that." Ironhide servo squeezed Optimus' gently, encouraging his mate to withdraw from where his helm had been buried into Ironhide's chassis. The Prime stole a shy look at Ratchet, detaching himself from Ironhide to sit beside his mate, looking mildly frightened and a hundred percent alert. "I don't really know what caused it, Ratch'. I know we heard some rumbling; the sound of sleet against stone – about halfway up the mountain. When we looked up, the rocks were already beginning to tumble down. Prime pushed me out of the way – and then something hit my helm, something hard, and then I don't…really recall anything after that, other than waking up a couple orns later, which I've mentioned to you already." He turned to Optimus, and, in a much gentler voice, asked, "Do you remember anything?"

Optimus stared blankly ahead, before nodding slightly, diverting his gaze to Ratchet slowly.

"Extrapolate, please," Ratchet murmured, keeping his optics firmly fixed on his clipboard so that Optimus wouldn't get nervous.

A full minute passed by, before Optimus finally did speak up. His rich, quiet voice filled the room, sounding as he normally did, with slight hints of a quiver every now and then. "Ironhide got hit," he murmured, just loud enough for Ratchet's finials to catch it. "I moved him to a safe site after the avalanche, and gave him an Energon transfusion. He was bleeding, very badly." Without noticing it, the young Prime's servos had started to tremble in his lap, prompting Ratchet to scribble down a side note about this…unusual habit.

"And what happened after that?" The CMO kept his voice low.

"I gave him most of my Energon, repaired him and welded the holes together. I offlined shortly after because my tanks were near critical level. When I woke up, Ironhide was in much better condition. He wasn't dying." The last sentence came out firmly, as if Prime needed reassuring that Ironhide was still here, that Ironhide wasn't dying, that his mate wouldn't leave him.

Ratchet jotted down a few notes, before looking up again. "All right, then. The next segment will be – slightly more tender for the both of you. More personal. For my part, I'll try to phrase the questions as delicate as possible, to mitigate any side effects, but please don't take any of my questions to spark."

Ironhide frowned. "If 'yer gonna tread on thin ice, 'yer might as well dance."

"All right, then. Don't blame me for asking so bluntly." The CMO's optics snapped to Optimus, the azure blue lights emitted by the sensors behind the glass playing across the room, mirrored sharply on the Prime's silver thighs and dancing across any other reflective surfaces. "Prime, 'Hide – do any of you recall any traumatic incidents during your period of exile?" He fixed both mechs with a stern glare. "The truth now. Anything at all – the slightest incident which could be deemed as fearsome, you have to tell me."

Ironhide raised his head slightly, indicating that he was deep in thought. After a while, the Weapons Specialist turned his cool gaze to the medic again. "No. Nothing of the sort."

"Prime?" To his credit, Optimus managed to shake his head slowly, not diverting his optics anywhere else, not even uttering a single panicked sound, as he felt Ratchet's gaze settle upon him. The Prime could, subconsciously, feel Ironhide's servo on his, the three most prominent digits drumming a light staccato on the metal of his wrists.

"Prime." The tone was serious now. Ironhide looked up to see that Ratchet had his optic ridges furrowed to form a disproving frown. The CMO had his mouth open – obviously to say more, but was interrupted by an internal communications link. Ratchet paused, two fingers placed up to the metal plating on his helm that served as the human equivalent of a temple. His vents shunted a sigh, answering the link with an impatient scowl. The CMO turned away, obviously intrigued by whatever the mech on the other end had to tell him, no longer interested in his patients. "What is it, Prowl?"

Optimus vented, turning into Ironhide's embrace, burying his head in the familiar metal plates. Weary baby blue optics shuttered, and the gruff Weapons Specialist could feel his sparkmate's exhales warm his protoform and his plating.

Ironhide leaned back with a sigh, resting his helm against the helmrest of the berth, listening to his mate's systems power down with a gentle hum. However this talk with Ratchet was going to go, it was not going to go well.

* * *

"And what did Ironhide say?"

"He talked to me about what happened during the exile. First Aid's tried to reconstruct the exact scenario of what happened, back when they were both in stasis lock – and I'm rather surprised to say, First Aid's theories have proved to be entirely correct when I cross-referenced with 'Hide. The mech's got a pretty sharp CPU in his helm." The resident CMO of the Autobots turned his helm to face the morning sun, rising above Iacon's borders. "The session was interrupted by your call."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Prowl. Prime looked real uncomfortable anyway and I doubt he was in the mood for saying anything. When I asked them if there were any traumatic events, or of the sort, that they remembered – both of them denied it. I don't know, Prowl…it feels like Prime's hiding something. His optics told me he's telling the truth, but I don't know whether to believe it or not."

"Did you think about Jazz's theory?"

Ratchet paused, shuttering his optics to prevent Hadeen's glorious light from blinding him. "I'd completely forgotten about that."

Prowl didn't say anything to that, choosing to instead down the last fraction of the contents in his morning cube of Energon, his free servo resting on the railing of the balcony of Prowl's private quarters. Behind the two mechs, nearly fully concealed by the translucent curtains, lay a prone Jazz. The recharging mech's vocalize was emitting the human equivalent of obscenely loud snores. "The whole thing sounds a little twisted to me. Don't get me wrong – it is plausible, but if so: what can we do to get the real Optimus back?"

"The mech in the medical bay is still Optimus, Prowl," Ratchet groused, servo pressed at an uncomfortable part in his chassis. "No matter what, he's still Optimus Prime. He just needs a little time, that's all. And our help. He needs all the help he can get – mine, yours, Jazz's, but most importantly, Ironhide's." A vented sigh. "It's been a whole month since their recovery from the cavern. I suppose it'll take even longer than that to help Optimus. So – about Jazz's theory. He's saying that Primex might have taken away Optimus' state of mind?"

"Yes. I was wondering…you'd like to know about it, too. It may be an odd theory, but it's something to grasp onto at best. We can work from there." A last gulp ensured that the last of the cube's contents were poured down Prowl's throat. "I didn't believe it at first, but you have to admit – if we did see the child of Primus right there and then, in that desolate cave, what's to stop us from believing that she did steal Optimus' mental stability away?"

"You are becoming too spiritual, Prowl," Ratchet murmured, but did not say anymore. A comfortable silence fell between them, both mechs observing Hadeen's rising, appreciating the bright light of the star. A snort drew them from their reverie, and Prowl turned his helm to see Jazz stretching lazily over their shared padded berth, rubbing his groggy optics with a servo and mewling most adorably as he yawned.

"You'll be having another session, I take it?" The tactician was already halfway across the huge balcony, striding with intent to sit by his bonded's berthside and greet him as he woke up.

"That I will," Ratchet nodded.

* * *

"Interesting," Megatron murmured, a servo pressed to his olfactory sensors, concealing half his crimson optics as he regarded the femme standing a few pedes away from his throne, nervously fidgeting. The Decepticon warlord had much contempt for Airachnid – to him, she was yet another drone, yet another Vehicon. She was as useless as the whole lot of his army. The Decepticon lord had barely managed to restrain his anger when he had heard that she had been captured by the Autobots. Pathetic! The femme was lucky that she had this interesting piece of news to bring him, otherwise he would have immediately ordered Starscream thrown her out of the airlock of the Nemesis.

"You are certain of this?" Intriguing, indeed. Optimus Prime, his formidable brother, was weak and unstable? From what Airachnid had said, she had witnessed the entire footage from the consoles room at the main Autobot Base and had even brought back some recorded tapes with her as evidence. Airachnid's capture had given the Council enough proof that Optimus Prime did not give information willingly to the Decepticons, and it had enraged him at first – till he learned that his former _brother _had suffered traumatically during his period of exile and was currently in a very unstable state of mind. Oddly enough, Airachnid had stated, his sparkmate was doing just fine, even though they had gone through the same thing.

"Yes, my Lord."

This was a golden opportunity, Megatron mused as he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his throne. This was not going to slip away from him just like that. The time had come to break his brother once and for all, and then destroy the young Prime. After all – what was the fun in just killing his biggest enemy? Why not have some fun with the seemingly noble Autobot first? Break him into nothing more than a whimpering, begging mech, before disposing of him? Megatron's CPU was already running calculations. Optimus' death would have to be recorded for all to see. His brother's death would have to be executed right in front of Ironhide, so that he would have the pleasure of seeing his brother's sparkmate break down and beg, too. There would be a moment of soppy exchanges of their love decrees before Megatron would grow tired and simply kill the Prime. The war would be won, then. All the Council members were pathetic – with the Prime gone, the Autobots would never really have true muscle or brain. Prime did the thinking and the fighting – all the imbecilic Councilors could ever do were making unimportant decisions. More reasons as to why the Decepticons had rebelled against the Council long ago.

For this time, and for this time only, Airachnid would not be punished. This was valuable information. The Autobots were certainly keeping it a secret, for fear that it would get into Decepticon servos, but it already had, unknowing to the gullible fools. Megatron rubbed his servos against each other, mouth pressed into a tight line of concentration. This mission would require every last resource, if they were really going to give their all into capturing Prime and defeating the Autobots once and for all. Megatron allowed himself a rare smirk. His orn had started off horribly and now – it was made. Swirling the contents of his Energon cube, enjoying the nervous look that Airachnid was currently giving him, he barked a last order to the femme.

"Summon my officers. I believe we have some plotting to do."

* * *

**A/N: **School is going to start soon and I will not be able to update as often due to the amount of homework they are piling on us :( Do be patient with me, this story will not go unfinished. It is really enjoyable to receive reviews and favourites/follows :)


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